


sitting at the top of the cosmos

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bondage, Dehumanization, Dominant Armitage Hux, Gags, Human Furniture, Light BDSM, M/M, Power Play, Secret Relationship, Submissive Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux has a new chair that he's quite fond of.





	sitting at the top of the cosmos

**Author's Note:**

> Another small drabble. I had this idea for a human furniture fic, so I just wanted to get it out there!
> 
> Now with art, by the lovely [arstyrannus](https://arstyrannus.tumblr.com)!

The Supreme Leader has a fine throne.

Hux had taken great pains to ensure the quality, overseeing the lion’s share of its construction personally. It’s huge and imposing like the man himself, dark stone glimmering with unknowable depths, threaded with great veins of living crystal like those sealing his reclaimed helmet together. It casts a grand shadow upon all that dare to take audience with the Order’s sovereign, as Hux knows well. He can see it clearly in his mind’s eye, remembering the feeling of sheer power that radiates out and threatens to push him to his knees.

But in his quarters, Hux is king, and the clean, well-organized space his domain. Away from the tumult of war and ever-simmering threat of mutiny within his own ranks, Hux finds time to relax and relish in a few comforting rituals. A warm drink, a moment off his feet, a repose within his oft-troubled mind.

Hux blows at the surface of his tea, watching the amber ripple as it steadily cools to a more drinkable temperature. He holds off taking a sip for the time being, cradling the saucer in his other hand as he crosses from the small kitchen to the more spacious sitting room. He still wears his uniform, boots, and gloves, despite the fact that now he has a little bit more privacy and could probably shed some of his layers. His robe hangs in the wardrobe, awaiting later on in the cycle, when he’ll curl up in bed and sink into a half-finished holobook.

Hux quickly picks out his favorite seat in the room, steps resounding through the quiet as he gingerly sits, feeling his weight settle comfortably atop the slightly arched surface. It quivers a bit, coping with the sudden pressure, but holds firm. Hux smiles, and crosses one leg over the other.

He’s missed these moments of silence, where he can allow his thoughts to drift through pleasantries he’s long neglected in the wake of the new Supreme Leader’s ascension. Looking back, it’d certainly been rough for quite some time, and occasionally Hux even feared for his life and his status. Thankfully, it looks as if things have calmed somewhat, the tension building through the Order more eased than it had been. A greater sense of confidence has returned to the general, allowing him more opportunity to indulge rather than always fret and fight.

Hux leans back, resting more weight against his seat. He starts a bit when it shifts unexpectedly, a muffled puff of breath disturbing the quiet of his quarters. The teacup totters in his grasp, sloshing liquid over the rim.     

“Oh dear,” Hux murmurs, watching the spilled droplets of tea quiver and break, dripping down the pale skin of his chair, puddling in the curves of muscles and channeling down the lengths of ribs. It doesn’t burn, but leaves the flesh it’s touched pink and tender. Hux takes a sip from his cup. The tea is still _quite_ hot.

He feels the temptation to spill a little more of it, perhaps on the bare rear of his steadfast perch, or onto one of the four legs held apart with metal crossbars, just to enjoy the reaction. However, a part of him fears too much teasing might cause it to collapse completely, and Hux will be _very_ displeased if he ends up soaking himself in boiling liquid when all he wants to do is relax.

So instead he reaches down to his right, running his hands teasingly through the mop of black hair. It feels silky, freshly washed, but starting to damp with sweat near the roots. He strokes the locks appreciatively, occasionally giving them a small pull and making his perch shudder and twitch but it doesn’t falter again. Another small moan filters past the stoppage of leather, and even though it shakes the illusion a bit, Hux relishes in the sound. He feels a bit warm under his uniform, now, but not in a hurried, desperate way. Despite the tightening in his pants, he doesn’t mind taking his time with this.

Hux lets the hair fall back through his fingers and rests his palm against his seat’s warm, firm shoulder. He moves his fingers over its sculpted muscles, the ribbed scarring and dark speckles and other delightful imperfections in its skin. So much strength, built well and detailed to Hux’s most favored aesthetics. Exquisite and practical at the same time, the perfect blend of form and function. He’s never had a seat quite like this.

The Supreme Leader has a fine throne. But Hux thinks he likes _his_ a lot better.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


End file.
